


Hot Chocolate

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas fic, written for the prompt 'hot chocolate'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Chocolate

_Jen not feeling well, so not going to her sister's. I won't be able to make it, sorry._

Sally choked off the surge of disappointment as she read the text. Men are all shits, she reminded herself. That's why she didn't bother with a proper relationship, just this part-time thing with Anderson. Who was also a shit, given that he'd waited until she was already at the café before he'd texted. She'd even bothered to dress up a bit – not that he'd have noticed. Still, they'd first had sex a year ago yesterday evening, and she'd felt that had deserved a bit of effort. Clearly Anderson hadn't. Or, more likely, he hadn't even remembered.

She sighed and glanced outside at the bitterly cold day, thinking about having to go back out into it to go home. Screw that, she was an independent woman and she wasn't just going to slink off home to mope because she'd been stood up. She'd order the biggest mug of hot chocolate this place would let her have, topped with enough cream to make her go up a dress size, and settle down with the book in her bag.

Of course, as luck would have it, no sooner was she ensconced in one of the armchairs tucked behind a massive potted plant, when who should come in but the bloody freak and his tag-along doctor. She sank down further in her chair, but needn't have bothered. Neither of them noticed her.

“Right, let me guess why we're here,” said John, looking around. “It's a front for an international criminal organisation focused on defrauding circus owners.”

“Not quite,” said Sherlock, sounding amused. Sally couldn't remember him ever sounding like that when it wasn't at someone else's expense.

“No, okay,” said John. “Then the owner murdered his mother-in-law with a hat pin, then ground her up in the coffee machine.”

Christ, Sally hoped not. She'd been coming to this place for years, it was going to look pretty bad if there'd been some sort of crime here without her noticing.

“Not even close,” said Sherlock. “The owner is a woman, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a mother-in-law. No, we're here for brunch.”

There was a pause as both Sally and John tried to process that.

“Brunch?” repeated John.

“Yes,” said Sherlock. “It's a meal that comes-”

“I know what brunch is,” interrupted John. “I just never pictured you eating it. Is this some kind of special occasion?”

“You could say that,” said Sherlock. “A year ago yesterday, Mike introduced us.”

“Oh,” said John, sounding even more surprised. “Jesus, has it really been a whole year?”

Sally wondered if she'd known that John and Sherlock shared an anniversary of sorts with her and Anderson, and then realised that Sherlock had remembered a relationship milestone and Anderson hadn't. It was saying something that a sociopath was better at that sort of thing than the man she was technically with was.

“And a day,” confirmed Sherlock. “But we were busy yesterday.”

John laughed. “Busy's one word for it,” he said in a tone of voice that made Sally think they'd either been doing something illegal, or had spent the whole day having sex. Or both – her mind shuddered away from what kind of thing the freak might get up to in bed.

“Sit,” said Sherlock in a commanding voice. “I shall get the food.” He moved to the counter and John went to find a table, thankfully heading away from Sally to a table they were unlikely to spot her from. She was going to have to stay here until they went or risk being seen, and that was the last thing she wanted. If the freak spotted her, he'd no doubt know exactly what she was doing here, dressed up, and why she was alone. She couldn't stand that.

Sherlock brought the food over to John and put it down on the table, then sat down. Sally tried very hard not to think about how she would have had to pay if Anderson had turned up, amidst claims that his wife would notice if their bank statement showed him buying another woman food.

“So, if yesterday was a year after we met, then today is a year after the thing with the taxi driver,” said John.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock. There was a pause, and then he added in a quiet voice, “The first time you saved my life.”

“When you gave me a purpose to mine,” replied John, and Sally peeked over to see that they were holding hands on the table, looking at each other as if they were the only two people in the world. She suddenly felt horribly in the wrong place, even it was a public café and she'd been here first. Sherlock was actually looking at John like a normal person might look at their lover, as if he was important and interesting – a look she'd thought he only saved for dead bodies.

A horrible thought suddenly struck her. If the freak could manage a normal relationship – or what was close enough to pass for one – why the hell couldn't she? What was she doing wasting her time on Anderson? She'd spent a year telling herself that she was only in it for the sex, and that the rest of it – the creeping about, the secrecy, the way he clearly still cared for his wife more than he ever would for her – didn't matter because she was too busy for anything more, but it was all bollocks, really. She deserved better, and if someone as dysfunctional as Sherlock could find it and hold on to it, then there was really no reason why she couldn't.

Besides which, she had to have more respect for herself than to keep fucking Anderson. He was talking about growing a beard, for crying out loud.

She pulled her phone back out and texted Anderson before she could second-guess herself.

 _You know, this really isn't working for me any more. I think it's better if we go back to just be work colleagues._

There was a surge of relief as soon as she'd sent it, a weight off her mind that she hadn't realised was there.

“You know,” said John, “we should find a taxi to chase later.”

Sherlock laughed. “I'm sure I can find you some rooftops to run across, if you want,” he said.

Sally hoped like hell that was some sort of inside joke, and not something they actually did together. No wonder John had never seemed all that interested in fishing.

“We should at least go to Angelo's later,” said John.

“Possibly,” said Sherlock, glancing over his shoulder at the counter.

John's eyes narrowed. “What?”

“It would appear that the owner is part of a criminal gang who import illegal fish products,” said Sherlock.

There was a short pause during which Sally tried to list illegal fish products and failed to get very far at all. Either she was as bad a copper as Sherlock seemed to think, or-

“You're joking,” said John with certainty.

“Yes,” agreed Sherlock, grinning at him, “but I had you for a moment there.”

John half-shook his head. “Illegal fish products,” he said. “Christ.”

“Death by hat pin,” Sherlock reminded him. “Sometimes your imagination astounds me, John.”

“Oh, I bet someone's done it, at some point,” said John. “Go on then, what's the weirdest murder weapon you've come across?”

This sounded like it was going to be a conversation that Sally could do without hearing. She turned her attention back to her book, telling herself firmly that she'd do her best to make sure that this time next year, she had someone to share her hot chocolate with who wouldn't stand her up, stick her with the bill, or want to talk about murder. It couldn't be that hard, right?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Hot Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188962) by [consulting_smartass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_smartass/pseuds/consulting_smartass)




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